Chibitalia's Uber Dark Secret
by hurg
Summary: Chibitalia has a horrible secret pertaining to her true identity. How will Holy Roman Empire cope?


(This is in no way intended to offend anyone. This was written many moons ago.)

Flying Spaghetti Monsters

_And Why You Should Too!_

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But, how can you disprove the existence of something you cannot prove exists? Did that even make sense? Argh, matey, that's Russell's Teapot for you. That's the struggle between faith-based religion and atheism. You believe what you are taught. If you are taught all your life that you live on a teapot too small to be seen by science, you will look awful strange if you disagree.

But-funny thing-Holy Roman Empire was never educated in the history of Pastafarianism. So, obviously, he will disagree when confronted with ramblings of its existence.

But, _with_ proof? One thing Russell's Teapot doesn't discuss, seeing as how it is on the basis of _how to prove or disprove something without proof of either or and no way to find it_.

And he was seriously beginning to grow concerned over his precious Chibitalia, poor girl. Must have heat stroke, the way she was rambling on and on about the One True Lord and how she needed to take a dump and why he couldn't notice she was not a woman. Particularly with how she was beginning to hit puberty a little early and her voice was cracking.

"Italia, are you alright? What's wrong?"

"Holy Roman," she said, lips shuddering, "Holy Roman Empire, I... I have a confession."

"Let me guess. You're actually part of a humorous, potentially racist gag comic strip of personified nations set in WWII made by some Japanese person no one can say the name of."

Chibitalia stared at him. Or...he thought so. She never seemed to open her eyes. "No. No, I _was_ going to tell you that I am actually a boy and that my first name is actually an established last name and my last name is Spanish, but I won't anymore. So."

"Yes?"

"I'll tell you something else." She took a great breath and her expression was nothing short of grave. "I'm a Flying Spaghetti Monster."

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"What."

"It's true. I'm a Flying Spaghetti Monster and I love you, Holy Roman Empire. And the comic series misinterprets your success to unknowing readers so very much. I... Barbarossa was a B.A.M.F. and you were a brutal little ankle-biter. You lasted many centuries and beat up a lot of nations. I feel really bad about that."

But Holy Roman Empire was in too much shock to catch any part of that blurb. "What's a...what you said?" he asked, voice high and reedy in disbelief.

"We are a holy creature that created the world," she said. "We are God, essentially. We created the world in seven days and gifted our holy knowledge to pirates."

"To...pirates?"

"You know, the good-willed buccaneers of the sea who give candy to small children!"

No, he didn't. He didn't at all. In fact, he'd go so far as to say he'd heard the _opposite_.

"You've been fed lies, of course, my dear friend, by those nasty Christians. I understand."

"Uh..."

"Since this _is_ probably the Dark Ages and I don't think we're to the Crusades yet, else we'd both be off to war against the Muslims and Turks despite our out of proportion small bodies; only the Muslims (and we're not going to talk to them, of course), the Byzantines (which is still technically the East Roman Empire, so Grandpa Rome isn't technically dead until the Ottoman Empire finally topples the Byzantine Empire...technically), and Catholic monks have written documentation of history. Plenty of room for misconceptions and misinformation."

"_Uh_..."

"And, of course, you being a predominantly Catholic empire, like most nations and mismatched feudalist government pockets of this time period, you're going to defend your religion. But, let me assure you, Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation (as you will be later amended to as a title to keep your crumbling empire together a little longer), Pastafarianism _is_ the true religion of the universe. I can prove it to you. Honestly."

"**Uh**..."

Chibitalia turned her attention back to him. "What is it?"

Holy Roman Empire shuffled a bit before answering in a mumble, "I think I'd better get Austria to check up on you..."

"For what reason?"

"I think you have a fever."

Chibitalia shook her head. Taking his arm (and startling the poor boy-who-should-be-a-man-due-to-sheer-territory-size in the process), she looked(?) him straight in the eye. "You have to trust me on this, Holy Roman Empire. I know you love me despite your vicious tactics to take over territory and how northern Italy was no different when it came to be under Austrian rule."

He shook his head. "I... I'm sorry, but I find that hard to believe. I'm sorry."

"Well, in the future, I can tell you that global temperatures shall rise because of the steady decline in pirates."

"Um..."

"And the Earth is not nearly as old as people claim. It is a trick that we Flying Spaghetti Monsters play, touching each rock with our Noodly Appendage."

"Um, er..."

"The Flying Spaghetti Monster is the One Truth, Holy Roman Empire!"

"Um, er, uh, _yeah_…"

She shook him, tried to make him see sense. "Please, my love! Please, believe me! I speak no lies! Please!"

Clearing his throat, he said slowly, "Pastafarianism is a satirical religion that many atheists adopt, Chibitalia. It is popular on college campuses and throughout much of Europe. It was originally made to prove a point that Intelligent Design should not be taught in schools. It's a joke."

"Wh...where did you learn this?" Her voice was hoarse. Or maybe it was just cracking because 'she' was hitting puberty.

"Wikipedia," he informed her.

"Lies! Wikipedia lies!"

"No, no. I consulted Wikipedia on that, too. It said it doesn't."

Silence. Never mind that the internet didn't exist yet or the idea of Wikipedia, for that matter. Then, "I... I must show you. For real. Step back a bit, Holy Roman Empire. I am going to show you something to prove to you that I am a Flying Spaghetti Monster."

He stepped back. Mainly because he was too freaked out to stop her and it was always polite to comply to a lady's wishes. "Chibitalia, what are you doing? What is going on?"

And then, then she

"Oh my JEEZUS!" he sobbed, toppling onto the ground. He then proceeded to try gnawing off his own left elbow, so traumatized was he. He feared he lost his mind in that instance.

Chibitalia closed her eyes again. "Do you see what I meant?"

"No, because I'm _blind_ now!"

"Oh. That happened to Brother, too. It'll pass."

"How long?"

"Three weeks."

Holy Roman Empire whimpered.

She bent down. "Holy Roman Empire, I'm sorry. At least now, you know what color eyes I have."

"I don't even know if there's a word in any dialect for that color."

Chibitalia shrugged. "There is in Flying Spaghetti Monster language." She then proceeded to help him up to his (shaky) feet.

"Don't touch me."

"I love you."

He glared at her through squinted, watering eyes (okay, so she didn't _really_ know if it was a glare; he was probably just in so much pain that it looked that way). "Okay. My decision is finally made. I will be leaving for a long, unspecific war."

"Wh-what? What did I do?"

"Ruined my life," he said.

"Oh." Pause. "How?"

He didn't answer. And, honestly, he didn't need to. Chibitalia knew what her eyes did to mortals. He was lucky he didn't turn to stone. You remember that freaky Medusa chick from Greek mythology? Yeah, that was Chibitalia's great-aunt. Don't ask how. She's on the other side of the family, the one _not_ related to Grandpa Rome.

Or he could have been turned into ash. Apparently, sometimes, she could shoot light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation. She always wondered if she could somehow harness that power into something solid, a container, make earth chemicals work in such a way. Perhaps one day. One day when people weren't eating boiled meat like a bunch of savage Neanderthals.

He's also lucky he didn't turn into sweetened condensed milk, for that matter. She didn't know how that happened with the last guy.

"I'm sorry, Chibitalia, but we can never be together. Not like this."

She held back a despaired sob. "But, Holy Roman! We love each other... You cannot judge me by this one thing."

He held up an arm (his right one, of course, because his left one was still hurting from that gnaw-fest). "I need some time to think. I will... I will try to see (literally). This is too much, too soon."

"Okay," she consented, "but if we ever meet hundreds of years from now and you are of another body and do not recall me, I call dibs on completely topping."

Holy Roman Empire blinked, not quite sure what she meant. He agreed with trepidation. "Okay." He turned to leave.

"W-wait!"

"Hm?"

She handed him her...panties? What the hell? Ew, they even _smelled_ gross! Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, cooties! He gingerly took them from her. "Remember the True God, my love," she told him, voice (still cracking and getting all weird) steady.

He didn't really know what to say to that, so he merely nodded curtly and high-tailed it out of there.

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rAmen.

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You lost the game.


End file.
